The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb — Volume 6 eBook

Colebrook is a wilderness. The Books, prints,
etc., are come here, and the New River came down
with us. The familiar Prints, the Bust, the Milton,
seem scarce to have changed their rooms. One
of her last observations was “how frightfully
like this room is to our room in Islington”—­our
up-stairs room, she meant. How I hope you will
come some better day, and judge of it! We have
tried quiet here for four months, and I will answer
for the comfort of it enduring.

On emptying my bookshelves I found an Ulysses, which
I will send to A.K. when I go to town, for her acceptance—­
unless the Book be out of print. One likes to
have one copy of every thing one does. I neglected
to keep one of “Poetry for Children,”
the joint production of Mary and me, and it is not
to be had for love or money. It had in the title-page
“by the author of Mrs. Lester’s School.”
Know you any one that has it, and would exchange it?

Strolling to Waltham Cross the other day, I hit off
these lines. It is one of the Crosses which Edw’d
1st caused to be built for his wife at every town
where her corpse rested between Northamptonsh’r
and London.

["An Ulysses”—­Lamb’s book for
children, The Adventures of Ulysses, 1808.

The Poetry for Children. The known copies
of the first edition of this work can be counted on
the fingers.

“A stately Cross...” These verses
were printed in the Englishman’s Magazine
in September, 1831. Lamb’s sympathies were
wholly with Caroline of Brunswick, as his epigrams
in The Champion show (see Vol. IV. of
this edition).]

LETTER 439

CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON

[P.M. December 4, 1827.]

My dear B.B.—­I have scarce spirits to write,
yet am harass’d with not writing. Nine
weeks are completed, and Mary does not get any better.
It is perfectly exhausting. Enfield and every
thing is very gloomy. But for long experience,
I should fear her ever getting well.

I feel most thankful for the spinsterly attentions
of your sister. Thank the kind “knitter
in the sun.”

What nonsense seems verse, when one is seriously out
of hope and spirits! I mean that at this time
I have some nonsense to write, pain of incivility.
Would to the fifth heaven no coxcombess had invented
Albums.